New school spud

Idaho Potato Commission battles for relevancy

Once a year, someone from the Idaho Potato Commission shows up at
Boise Co-op, clipboard in hand, to put eyes on the tubers.

"They check how we're displaying them," said Roben Latham, Co-op
produce manager and buyer. "Mostly, they're looking at our signs, and I
think they're looking at the quality of the product."

The potato inspectors also ensure that all of the potatoes are
labeled with a state of origin, and that the Idaho Potato Commission
has certified any Idaho-grown potatoes on display.

Farmers cannot grow the state vegetable for commercial purposes
unless they participate in the commission's marketing efforts through a
potato tax.

"I've seen some really nice fresh potatoes that I would love to
sell, but for them to have to pay, they would make no profit and that I
find discriminating," Latham said.

Earlier this month, the Idaho Potato Commission moved to force the
Idaho Fry Company, a new, independently owned Boise burger joint that
specializes in fries, to change its name. News of the crackdown spread
via Twitter and Facebook and caused a media stir, giving one of the
nation's oldest and, by many accounts, most successful commodity
promoters, a black eye.

The commission, which, along with J.R. Simplot and McDonald's, made
Idaho potatoes famous, holds a certification mark on the term "Idaho"
when used in conjunction with the name of any potato product. It was
registered, like a trademark, with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office
in 1966 and updated in 2004. But the commission claims first use on the
terms back to July 1, 1939.

"Everybody would like to call their potatoes 'Idaho,' but only
one-third of the potatoes in the Unites States come from Idaho," said
Frank Muir, executive director of the commission. "All this Twittering
that's going on right now, that's become testimony that if we don't
protect it they'll say, 'they're letting a restaurant use "Idaho" in a
name that doesn't even use Idaho potatoes.'"

The Potato Commission has been aggressive in defending its name over
the years. With a $13 million annual budget, the commission has taken
on some of the largest vegetable packers and resellers on the East
Coast.

A 1997 New York Times story about Hapco Farms, supplier for
the Publix supermarket chain, suggested that the Idaho Potato
Commission was canceling contracts with resellers in an attempt to push
anyone selling non-Idaho potatoes out of business. Also in 1997, the
Potato Commission sued M&M Farms, another New York potato dealer
that was accused of packing non-Idaho potatoes in Idaho bags. In
retaliation, Hapco, M&M, Majestic Produce Corp. and G&T
Terminal Packing, sought to cancel the Potato Commission certification
marks arguing, among other things, that the commission was misusing its
marks and that the Idaho potato had become generic.

Though the commission has managed to keep its rights to the Idaho
potato mark, the cases are not fully settled and Muir fears that any
slip in their defenses would give the out-of-state resellers an
additional reason to push cancellation.

But there are other grumblings about Potato Commission dealings
closer to home.

A growing number of Idaho farmers are turning to organic and
specialty potatoes, and some say the commission has been slow to expand
the notion of an Idaho spud.

"They don't promote organic potatoes, so why do I send my money to
them if they don't promote organic potatoes," asked Nate Jones, an
organic spud farmer in King Hill.

Jones pays $100 a year to the Potato Commission for use of the Idaho
Potato certification and he reluctantly submits his potato taxes--12.5
cents per 100 pounds packed--though he feels he is small potatoes and
the tax is not entirely fair.

"The last couple of years, I have been sending them a small check,"
Jones said.

Other, even smaller farmers, don't want to invest in the grading
machinery and labeling regimen that comes with commission certification
and thus can't access markets like Boise Co-op, which specialize in
local produce.

Ken Mulberry of Wild Country Organic in Kimberly thinks the Potato
Commission lost sight of its mission in the 1990s, though he says it
has improved recently.

"They've become more interested in enforcing and punishing than
advertising and promoting," Mulberry said.

Mulberry lost his license to pack potatoes some years ago and went
to court to get it back. At issue, according to Mulberry, was the very
image of the Idaho potato: the Russet Burbank variety, which is the
classic Idaho baker.

"There's a lot of new varieties that are being developed that ought
to be tried," Mulberry said.

Though he still has complaints--the commission recently forced him
to remake the stamp he uses on his potato boxes because it was a
half-inch too small--he says the commission, under Muir, is heading in
the right direction.

"I take my hat off to them for their new focus; they are getting
back to promoting," he said.

Muir said that purple potatoes and fingerlings, and yellow and red
potatoes can all be Idaho potatoes.

"Idaho has only in the last five years been growing those," he said.
"We do want to be the one-stop-shop state for all potatoes."

He said it is the growers who started the commission in 1937, and
growers and packers fully fund it today. From September 2008 until
February, an Idaho potato ad ran on national cable networks featuring
fitness guru Denise Austin standing in a potato field touting the
health benefits of Idaho potatoes.

The organic and specialty markets have not gotten large enough to
warrant their own television commercials, Muir said.

But the commission could take a lesson from the Idaho Fry Company in
potato promotion. The restaurant offers dozens of different fries, from
yams and purple potatoes to Yukons and even Russets, depending upon
what is available and fresh. Each offering is labeled with the type of
potato and where the potatoes were grown.

Muir says Idaho potatoes have a better texture--starchier and
fluffier--than other states' spuds, and that distinguished palates can
tell the difference.

Not so, says Idaho Fry Company co-owner and chef Riley Huddleston.
Once fried and seasoned, there is no distinguishable difference between
a standard Idaho and Washington spud.

But there is one Idaho potato that Huddleston favors, and it's one
that Jack Simplot may have not have even recognized as a potato: Mike
Heath's all blues, sold as Sunset Butte Organics and grown in Buhl.

"His purple Peruvians, you can definitely tell they have a lot more
flavor and they crisp up better," Huddleston said.

Heath, for his part, would like more local customers for his purples
and red ladies and he said the commission has shown some interest in
his operation.

"They've been around to visit," Heath said. "They certainly are
friendly and interested."